Everybody needs a duck.
It must be in my family genes, this love of stuffed ducks. Most people have teddy bears or blankies. Not me. I had a duck.
His name was Ducko. He was – is – super cool. I loved him a lot when I was little. Alright, alright, I still do. I carried him everywhere.
I only have two baby pictures of myself. Ducko is in both.
I loved him so much that his head fell off.
Don’t worry. My grandma sewed it back on with light blue yarn.
Lookin’ good, my friend.
I have three amazingly smart and beautiful nieces. The oldest inherited the “I love my duck” gene. Meet Cara and Duck-Duck:
You know how some parents hope beyond hope that their kid will be a doctor? Or maybe a professional baseball player? Well, I hoped my kid would love a stuffed duck.
It’s too soon to know for certain, but I am happy to report that Ryan is displaying initial signs of forming the duck attachment.
How do I know this? Two very telling pieces of evidence:
1. He thinks it’s funny when Mr. Duck flies through the air and/or “quacks” at him.
2. He likes to slobber on Mr. Duck’s beak.
Caught in the act!
I’m so proud.